


Clouded By the Past

by bossxtweed



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Gen, Mistaken Identity, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25543609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossxtweed/pseuds/bossxtweed
Summary: The Lumiat encounters the Doctor, who takes her for a Timeless version of herself, and the pair try to figure out what is wrong with the soil in Sheffield.
Kudos: 12





	Clouded By the Past

She  _ loves  _ the Doctor--- _ always has,  _ only she’s never been very good at properly expressing it, what with all the murder attempts and destroyed planets. Oh, but  _ now  _ she feels comfortable expressing it!

“I  _ love _ the Doctor!” she tells herself, and she twirls in front of the mirror.

Today is a masculine, suit-wearing kind of day, and the Lumiat raises both hands to snap her bright pink suspenders: yet  _ another  _ thing she loves! The way they compliment her eyes and the comfort of wearing tight clothing while knowing that clothes don’t indicate gender (but that they can nonetheless be validating) has her beaming.

She feels comfortable in pastels now: lavender and pale pink, the colors of Spring, with the suit jacket and pants a soft lavender and her shirt, bow-tie, and suspenders a soft shade of pink. Smiling, she turns away from the mirror and walks out of the wardrobe, through the corridors, and to the console room.

“C’mon, you!” she exclaims, fiddling with the controls. Her TARDIS hums, something low and unhappy, and the Lumiat frowns. “Oh, don’t do  _ that!  _ I just want to visit the Doctor, only I’m not quite sure  _ where  _ she’ll be, though I’m  **_sure_ ** she’ll  _ love  _ the company!”

Her ship hums again and she sighs.

“I  _ know  _ there’s a chance she’ll be angry with me, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.“ She flips a few switches and sends her ship whirling through the Time Vortex.

They land on Earth, early Twenty-First Century, and the Lumiat smiles as she steps out into an overcast day in Sheffield. Cars bustle past with children turning their heads to stare as her ship, which appears out of  _ nowhere,  _ turns into a small food service stand, advertising hot pretzels and fresh lemonade, and she stares at it a moment before a ‘CLOSED’ sign appears.  _ Don’t want to trick any hungry people into thinking they could  _ **_actually_ ** _ get pretzels,  _ she thinks,  _ though it  _ **_does_ ** _ make me hungry… _

She spots the Doctor crouching in a garden, shovelling handfuls of dirt into her coat pockets, and she approaches carefully before gently nudging her leg with one foot. “Hello, Doctor.”

The blonde woman turns and squints at her. “Hello. Do we know each other?”

The Lumiat smiles. “Might do.” 

Standing, the Doctor looks the other over carefully, taking in her red hair and pastel suit, and after a moment, something akin to recognition shines in her eyes. "There are two options: one, either you’re  _ Koschei,  _ or two, you’re  _ me,  _ and since I can’t remember being you, you’d have to be one of the versions they erased from my timeline--- _ " _

_ Is she referring to the child?  _

The very thought of it has the Lumiat taking a step back. Finding that knowledge in the matrix, forming the connection between that frightened, exploited child and their childhood best friend, had led the Master to burn  _ everything,  _ preventing the Time Lords from wreaking any more havoc in the universe. 

With bated breath she cautiously asks, “Why do you think I’m younger than you?”

The Doctor cocks her head to one side and stares at her curiously. After a moment she taps the side of her head, saying, “I can  _ feel it,  _ in here. I was  _ technically  _ trapped in a time loop in my confession dial so it’s debatable whether or not I aged that much, but sometimes I  _ definitely  _ feel the weight of those years.  _ You,  _ however, seem to carry yourself with a joy that I haven’t felt since I was  _ very _ young.”

Weighing her options, the Lumiat decides to play along with the lie if it means talking with the Doctor and perhaps even seeing her  _ smile  _ for the first time in centuries. Forcing a smile, she replies, "alright, you’ve  _ got me! _ I’m not sure where I fit in your timeline, though. Last I remember is the Time War."

The Doctor’s face falls. “Ah. Burning Gallifrey, then?”

The Lumiat holds her gaze despite the gut-punchingly accusatory nature of the question. “Yes, burning Gallifrey. It was the only way to end it all, after everything.”  _ After what they did to you, after finding that a small piece of  _ **_you_ ** _ is  _ **_always_ ** _ in me, that I am, by design--- _

That old anger begins to burn again in her hearts and she knows it will be impossible to shake this feeling, one which she used to get rid of by destroying the nearest living creature.

“Tell me: what’d your last face look like?” the Doctor prods.

The Lumiat looks away for a brief moment before saying, “I  _ think  _ I remember being all pin-stripey but I can’t really remember.”

The Doctor cocks her head to one side, watching her carefully. “Hm. Well, pin-stripey me  _ was _ rather upset when they weren’t ginger, so I  _ suppose  _ it would make sense…” her eyes widen and she snaps her fingers before pointing at the other, exclaiming, “if you’re one of  _ them,  _ can you remember being all serious and full of swagger while working for the Division and wearing a navy blue coat and yellow glasses?”

The Lumiat steps back. Coat and glasses? As far as she can remember, the Doctor has _never_ worn such things, yet something in the other’s gaze compels her to persist with the lie and she shakes her head. “No, I can’t--I don’t think the programming allows it, though I _have_ been trying to figure out just how many of us there are.”

Snorting, the Doctor nods. “So have I---wait,” she holds up an index finger, “no, I haven’t! I mean, I  _ did,  _ but I gave up once I realized it was a nearly impossible task. So then, Doctor, you’re  _ ginger.  _ Oh, how I envy you!”

Running one hand through her hair, the Lumiat laughs, saying, “I can imagine. We’ve had white, grey, blonde, and brown hair,  _ and  _ we’ve been a woman before, even though we can’t remember it---” she makes a note to track down this Division-employed incarnation of the Doctor and show her a friendly face, if that’s what she needs.

The Division had tracked down Koschei once, in the very early days, claiming only  _ they  _ were capable of doing such dirty work, but the response had been a cold, definitive  _ no,  _ and nothing further ever came of it. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise the Lumiat that they had succeeded in wrangling the Doctor.  _ It’s for the good of the planet,  _ they had likely said, appealing to the Doctor’s good nature and desire to  _ help  _ wherever they went,  _ and you’ll be a  _ **_very_ ** _ useful asset to our cause.  _

_ I’d do it all again,  _ she thinks, mulling it over.  _ Might not enjoy it as much as I once did, but that’s bound to happen, isn’t it? People lose interest in things all the time.  _

_ Maybe I’d save some of the children. _

Her own, at the very least. Five of them. One had left the planet as soon as they could, seeking out treatment for their chronic illnesses; another had joined the government, working their way up through the ranks and growing apart from their family; the third hadn’t made it past the Academy, given that they were loomed without regenerative abilities; and the younger two, twins (born of the same loom, conjoined at birth but safely separated), had been in the Academy the last time she’d seen them, getting ready for their first exams and looking rather smart in their neat, steam-pressed robes. Yes, if she could change one thing, she would go back and save them.

The Doctor’s voice cuts into her thoughts, saying, “there’s something  _ wrong _ with the soil in Sheffield but I’m not sure  _ what,  _ so I’ve been taking samples that I’ll examine closer back in my TARDIS.”

“It  _ looks  _ fine to me,” the Lumiat replies, and she can’t help but roll her eyes as the Doctor crouches back down in the grass. “What are you doing  _ now?” _

She can only watch, horrified, as the Doctor shovels a handful of dirt into her mouth and chews on it. “Mm!” she smiles, revealing a mouthful of dirtied teeth, and the Lumiat flinches as the Doctor swallows without hesitation. “Just getting a taste for it!  _ Very  _ high in iron and I fear it’s suffocating the plants, the poor things.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Doctor.” It reminds her of the Academy, where Theta would consume dirt for the thrill of it. “I mean, there could be  _ poisonous substances  _ in the soil, fertilizers or something, and it’s less nutritious than the stuff back home.”

The Doctor turns towards the Lumiat, curling her lips upwards to form a bemused smile. “Ah!  _ That  _ sounds like me, Doctor. You  _ might  _ be between my 10th and 11th selves, given that the 11th  _ loved  _ bowties and suspenders and  _ that,”  _ she reaches a hand out to straighten the bowtie, “compliments your eyes  _ very  _ well.”

The Lumiat laughs. “You don’t know that. They could be  _ wildly  _ different colors and you’d say the same thing.”

The Doctor lifts her shoulders in a shrug, saying, “ _ yeah,  _ you’re right about that, Doctor. But please, tell me more about your adventures. You mentioned the War---exactly  _ how long ago  _ was it, for you?”

_ Millennia,  _ answers the little voice in the back of her mind.  _ I’ve been in and out of it too many times to count…  _

Dipping her head, she says, “Only a few years, I think? Dunno. Haven’t slept since  _ long  _ before it started, and--” she startles as the Doctor springs to her feet and wraps her arms around her.

“I  _ know  _ how hard it can be, so soon after the War, but you’re  _ not  _ alone. You’ve just travelled with Rose, and Martha, and Donna, and soon enough you’ll have the  _ Ponds _ and---”

“Spoilers, Doctor,” the Lumiat cuts in. “Even  _ if  _ I won’t remember this.”

Pulling back, the Doctor scrunches her face and replies, “yeah, you’re probably  _ right,  _ but going back to the matter at hand: what could be causing high iron levels in the soil?  _ My  _ mind---one day going to be  _ your  _ mind---jumps to the Sontarans---but  _ why?” _

“Have you asked any of the locals if they’ve noticed anything?”

The Doctor stares at her for a moment before exclaiming, “oh!  _ That’s  _ smart thinking, Doctor. Walk with me?” she holds out a hand. “I have friends who live around here---I call them my  _ Fam,  _ even though we’re not related, and I  _ think  _ you’ll like them.”

“Are they your companions?” she replies in a soft whisper.

“Yes, they are. Three of them, this time. But enough talking--let’s go!”

Cautiously, the Lumiat takes the Doctor’s hand and follows her down the sidewalk, past the pretzel cart (which the Doctor stops at curiously, remarking how it hadn’t been there before and how she hopes it will open soon because a salted pretzel sounds absolutely  _ delightful _ ), and up to one of the flats. Rather than ringing the electric bell, she knocks on the door and waits.

When the door opens, an older white man with silver hair and glasses looks out at them, raises an eyebrow, and asks, “Doc? What are you doing back so soon?”

Grinning, she points at the Lumiat, saying, “I found a past version of myself, Graham! Can’t remember her, but she  _ is  _ me, and isn’t  _ that  _ exciting?!”

The man---Graham---shakes his head. “What? Doc, I’m not following…”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, Graham. Just look! She’s  _ ginger! _ I’ve wanted to be ginger for  _ ages  _ and it turns out I  _ was,  _ only I just can’t remember it. Oh, well. Are the others here?”

Graham hesitates, raises one hand to rub at his temple, and finally opens the door and steps aside, gesturing for them to enter. 

“They’re in the kitchen,” he says, shutting the door behind them. “We’re having sandwiches and then ice cream, if either of you are hungry.”

The Lumiat’s stomach growls and she remembers her pretzel stand.  _ I hope no one’s  _ **_expecting_ ** _ her to open anytime soon! But  _ **_oh,_ ** _ how good a pretzel would taste right now… dipped in mustard and absolutely  _ **_coated_ ** _ in salt, stinging my tongue… _

“What sort of sandwiches?” the Doctor asks once they’re in the kitchen. 

Two young adults sit at the counter eating sandwiches: one is a black man dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, the other is a brown woman wearing bright red with her hair tied back in a ponytail, and the Lumiat watches as the Doctor fondly pats the man’s shoulder.

_Three humans,_ the Lumiat thinks, watching as Graham settles on a chair next to the younger man. _That’s_ ** _good,_** _isn’t it? That she’s travelling with people, calling them family. But---_ something about them, _particularly_ the young woman, feels familiar in a way she cannot place. 

_Missy_ would have killed them all then and there, purely for the thrill of hearing them scream or making them beg for their life; there were, after all, _very_ few times when anyone ever said anything _nice enough_ to avoid being disintegrated. But Missy is gone now, buried somewhere within the Lumiat, and while the _urge_ to kill still exists, it occurs far less often and she has grown much better at ignoring it. 

“Doctor!” the woman exclaims, jumping from her chair. “We thought you were going away for a while.” Her smile fades as she sets down her sandwich and she asks, “Has something happened?  _ Please  _ say nothin’s wrong and the reason you’re here is just for a friendly visit!”

The Doctor grabs a plate and a knife and sets about making herself a sandwich with wheat bread, strawberry jam, and a sprinkling of dirt from inside her jacket pocket while the Lumiat stands aside with her hands clasped in front of her. 

“Doctor?” she asks, but the Doctor merely looks at her and offers a small smile. 

“Who’s she?” the younger man gestures towards the Lumiat. “Friend of yours?”

Around a mouthful of food the Doctor says, “no. Well. Depends on how you’d define “friend,” I s’pose.”

“I’m---I’m a past regeneration of hers,” the Lumiat says quietly.  _ Deep breath,  _ she tells herself, forcing a smile. “Hello. I’m the Doctor.”

“What?!” Ryan and Yaz exclaim simultaneously. 

“She’s  _ you?!”  _ Yaz asks, looking between the two women. “Which one’s older, then?”

The Lumiat indicates the Doctor before moving to grab herself a plate. “I’m,” she hesitates, sparing a brief glance towards the Doctor, “a  _ bit  _ over nine hundred.  _ Much  _ younger than you, I imagine.”

Sorrow falls over the Doctor’s mien and she dips her head, hiding behind a wave of blonde hair. “Yup,” she states simply. “I  _ say  _ I’m about two thousand, but there were some weird bits involving a time loop and I’ve also had a couple of lives I don’t like to talk about.”

“Shut up!” Yaz exclaims. She swats at the Doctor’s arm with one hand. “You  _ can’t  _ be that old!”

“I  _ am,  _ though,” the Doctor admits. “Time Lords age differently than you humans after our first regenerations---as children, it’s much the same, though we spend  _ decades  _ studying at the Academy, and once we’re older, we tend to look the same for  _ centuries  _ before Time begins to crack away at us.”

“You haven’t introduced them to me,” the Lumiat cuts in. “You said  _ that one,”  _ she points, “is named  _ Graham,  _ but who are these two?”

The Doctor turns towards her and frowns. “Ah. Right! Yaz, Ryan,” she points towards both of them in turn. “They’re good kids. I’m sure you’ll  _ love  _ travelling with them, when the time comes for it.”

_ I did enjoy riding that motorbike,  _ the Lumiat reflects, and she smiles at the memory. 

They finish their sandwiches and Graham pulls out a tub of ice cream, scoops a healthy serving into five bowls, and insists they all sit down and enjoy dessert while the two Doctors share more about themselves. As the hours tick by, the Lumiat grows ever more uncomfortable with pretending to be the Doctor, but she is in too deep and does not want the inevitable shouting match that would accompany an admission of being the Master. 

Finally, the Doctor says her goodbyes and leads the Lumiat out of the house. “I take it your ship is that pretzel cart we passed earlier?” she asks coldly.

Nodding, the Lumiat replies, “yes, Doctor. I was hungry when I landed and it blends in well, doesn’t it? What with the heat and people bustling by…” noting the Doctor’s sudden change in demeanour she asks, “have I done something wrong?”

Stopping before the pretzel cart, the Doctor whirls around to glare at her and spits, “it’s  _ over now,  _ Koschei. Tell me:  _ why?  _ Why’d you have to lie to my friends--”

“It was  _ you _ who lied,” the Lumiat corrects. “You looked at me and saw what you wanted to, and for that I’m sorry.”

Suffocating silence settles over them. Millennia of exploding planets, killing insignificant individuals, and chasing one another through the universe have made them jaded. While pretending _ has _ saved their friendship before and even rekindled it in some form with ”O” being a truer version of Koschei, one who could share their secrets, fears, hopes, and dreams with their dearest friend, they can no longer pretend. After the destruction wrought by her former self, the Lumiat fears they can never truly reconcile. 

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive you,” the Doctor’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “You burned it all, but for what?  _ Why _ am I so important to you?”

Forcing herself to maintain eye contact, the Lumiat replies, “You’re my _best friend,_ Doctor. I  _ know _ I’ve done wrong in the past and you probably think I’m trying to trick you, but I’m  _ not!  _ I’m  _ trying-- _ that is,  **_actively_ ** _ trying-- _ to do better in the universe, using you as my model for good behavior. I don’t even  _ go _ by ‘Master’ anymore.”

“What do I call you, then?” the Doctor retorts. “Mistress? It’d make sense, I suppose.” the Lumiat meets her gaze and the next word the Doctor speaks provides another terrible punch to her gut: “ _ Missy.” _

_ “No,”  _ she snaps back. “That’s not who I am anymore.”

Narrowing her eyes, the Doctor walks a slow, careful circle around her. “That so? Hm, let me guess: you’re going by  _ Magister  _ or some other language’s equivalent.”

Smiling sadly, the Lumiat shakes her head. “No, I’ve chosen to go by “Lumiat” now. It turns out, _helping those in need_ is **_far_** more rewarding than any of my previous exploits.”

The Doctor tilts her head back and the Lumiat shudders under her harsh gaze. “I see. Well, I’m not ready to be your friend again, Kosch’. Not yet, anyway.” she walks away and the Lumiat wipes away tears before stepping into her TARDIS.

_ You should have made her stay, shown her that you  _ **_have_ ** _ changed, that murder and mayhem aren’t as satisfying as they used to be, and that, maybe-- _

“Another time,” she tells herself. “That’s not the Doctor for me.” She flies off into the Time Vortex, seeking the Division-employed version of her oldest friend and best enemy. 


End file.
